I’m tempted to say something to Lucifer, but I don’t want to waste time on that stupid prick. He sees us, of course. Although he makes no attempt at conversation, he manages to bow to us in his usual overblown way as we pass by. We ignore him, and go on into the building.
I know Jesus’s been in worse places before, but the sight of him behind bars is simply painful. Although at the moment, the circumstances are somewhat mitigated due to the fact the door to his cell is actually open, and he’s sitting inside with a young child fast asleep in his lap. Mary and I can’t help but smile at the sight. At the same time the sheriff has materialized from somewhere, a pretty young woman right behind him. He relaxes when he sees us. Judas stops before him, as if half expecting a confrontation.
“I’ve brought his mother and sister,” he says, lying rather smoothly but it’s probably a good ploy on his part and besides, I am like a sister to Jesus. “Is that a problem?”
It is the woman who speaks. “Of course not,” she assures him with a smile, as the sheriff nods his agreement. Of course, what else can he do at this point without looking like an utter ass? Mary hastens towards the cell, me close behind her.
“Who’s your friend?” I greet him with a smile. The child has her arms around Jesus’ neck in a trusting manner. The children all love him, of course, always have.
“This is Sarah,” he replies with a smile, “Sheriff Kaplan’s daughter.” I notice his words are for us, but his eyes are trained on Judas, who hasn’t followed us into the cell but remains on the other side. Maybe he’s giving us time together, I don’t know. It’s not like him to be so thoughtful. I know, I know, I’m trying. It’s hard to break an old habit. When I see the looks he and Jesus exchange, it actually breaks my heart. The child’s mother comes into the cell, and takes her sleeping daughter.
She pats Jesus’ arm gently, whispers, “Thank you.”
As Mary embraces her son, I turn away from their private moment, my attention focused on the woman and her child. Upon leaving the cell, she stops before Judas, who’s put on his I’m so tough bad guy look, the one that impresses no one. “Can I trouble you to hold Sarah, please, Mr. Jarvis? There’s something I need to do.” Just that quickly she’s handed her daughter to him, and nodded to her husband, and though he seems a bit reluctant, he follows her into his office, shutting the door behind them. Now that is a whole lotta trust there. I suspect the woman has a bunch of insight into stuff, and she knows exactly what she’s doing, and it has nothing to do with needing a babysitter.
Judas seems a little baffled at first. It’s probably been a very long time since he’s had to babysit, and my instinct is to go out there and take charge of the situation. But Jesus’ hand upon my arm stops me. I glance at him. He shakes his head no, and motions me to sit beside him. His mother sits on his other side, her head upon his shoulder as he comforts her. I take a seat, a bit reluctantly as I’m not sure this is a great idea; I continue to observe Judas and the child. My fears are groundless though. He holds her gently, rocks her in his arms, every now and then bestowing a tender kiss upon her head. Maybe Jesus is right—maybe he just needs something to hold on to. I guess I can relate to that.
“Give him time,” Jesus murmurs softly, his eyes meeting mine, “this is very hard on him.”
“Hard on him?” I sputter while trying to keep my voice down, not an easy thing to do, and the man is standing right there, after all. But when he doesn’t react, I come to the conclusion he’s being somewhat oblivious. “I’m more worried about you and what’s happening to you, not him.”
“Mary, please,” he pleads, and his dark eyes are brimming with emotion and unshed tears and they’re so sorrowful I just want to cry. This is too hard, too hard, God, why are we doing this like this, it isn’t fair? “I know you don’t really care for him, but please…his time…” His breath seems to catch in his throat. “His time, too, is almost done. Our time…is almost over. Please…for me?” I grit my teeth and nod. I’ll do whatever he asks of me, of course. But my mind is racing now, and I’m thinking maybe this time we can do things differently, change how things will come out. I don’t know if it’ll really make any difference, considering the odds are kinda stacked against us, but I sure intend to give it a try.
“Mary,” he repeats my name, and of course I give him my full attention—I’d do anything for this man. I’d even give my life for him, gladly, if I thought it would do any good, although I know better. “When I’m gone—”